The Water is Wide
by Yva J
Summary: A day of beachside contemplation turns into a lesson in storytelling for Andrew as well as for others.


_a/n: Another seaside adventure with Andrew. I hope you enjoy this, and contrary to popular belief, storytellers really do exist. I knew a few during my youth._

_Reviews are love. Thanks to Kitten Kisses for the review and for the suggestions. You're suggestions were noted and the appropriate changes were applied in this updated copy.

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**The Water is Wide**

By: Yva J.

The water brushed against the shore leaving fragments of shells and other debris in its wake. The Angel of Death named Andrew watched as the waves crashed and he took a contented breath. It was a beautiful day, it was quiet, the summer holidays had ended and most of the people who had been active beachgoers during the summer months were now gone, they had returned to the hustle and bustle of their every day lives.

As he dug his toes into the sand, he released a contented sigh as the water lapped against the shoreline, the wetness of it running against his feet. He looked around the area all the while marveling at the wonders delved in the simplicities of nature. On down the beach, he could see a man playing Frisbee with his golden retriever, the dog barking gaily as his master threw the large lime green colored object in the air. At the other end of the beach, a family had been having a picnic and the mother was packing the rest of their belongings as the children frolicked in the surf. Back in the direction of the parking lot, he could see that a school bus had pulled into the parking lot and a number of preteen boys had gotten out.

Andrew loved this time of the day, just before dusk, the sun would be sinking behind the blue green sea, the peace would envelope this place as the tide would wash out and in, the waves giving the air a salty taste.

He looked further on down the coast and he could see that someone was walking. As they got closer, he recognized it to be a woman. She wore a white dress, her hair was pulled back and she looked as though she was in a sort of meditative state as she walked, the hem of her dress floating on the water as the waves rushed in and out in rhythmic motion.

She walked closer still her eyes downcast, but there was, by no means anything sad about her, she looked to be happy, just contemplative.

Andrew closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting as she continued to walk, her hand brushing up against her hair as she pulled the band out of her hair so that she could feel the gentle breeze blowing it around. She raised her head and allowed the wind to waft through her tresses as she left the shoreline and walked closer to where he was sitting.

"Hello," she smiled as the wind continued to blow through her hair and she came over and sat down next to him.

"Hi," Andrew returned her greeting and watched as she sat down on the ground.

"You new around here?" The woman asked as she once again pulled her hair back from her face and used the rubber band to tie it back.

"Yes, I am," he said. "And you?"

"I live up the coast about mile away," she offered freely, "but I walk here every day, and I always seem to know when someone new comes along."

"Very observant," Andrew said.

"No great credit to me," she offered. "I remember as a little girl that my grandfather would tell me to observe everything, you can learn a lesson in the intricacies of a shell or the story in the waves crashing against the shoreline. He would always say things like that. So I come here every day for inspiration."

"Are you a story teller?"

"Yes, it's a profession that is very low rated, people think story tellers are just those who tell bedtime stories to children before they say their prayers and go to sleep at night, but a story teller, if they are good can put you anywhere at any time."

Andrew nodded. "Can you do that?"

"I can try," she leaned over and picked up a shell. "What do you think of when you put the shell to your ear?"

He did as she said, but shook his head. "I don't know," he replied.

"Try it again, take the shell and put it to your ear, no one else is here but you and me, so you won't get laughed at or anything." Andrew did as she said and smiled.

"I felt happy," he said softly.

The woman smiled. "That's a good start. By the way, my name is Lillian, but people call me Lily, and the name I use when I tell stories is 'Tiger Lily'."

"Are you part Indian?" Andrew asked.

"No, the name actually came from sitting around and watching 'Peter Pan' over and over again as a little girl," She said.

"I'm afraid I don't much about 'Peter Pan'," he offered.

"Don't worry about it," she smiled. "'Tiger Lily' was the Indian princess in Never-land, but, that's not so important, because it's just what the kids call me. What's your name?"

"Andrew."

"Beautiful name," she smiled.

"My Father gave it to me," he said.

"Would you like to learn how to tell a good story, Andrew?"

He nodded as he continued to dig his feet into the sand.

Lily picked up a clump of sand. "You see a pile of sand here, but what is really here, could be crystals that were washed in by the sea. The use of imagination is worth its weight in gold, because a good story can bring you to mind where that sand had actually been before it reached your hand."

She picked up a shell and put it to her ear. "You listen with your heart to the words that come from the sounds of the waves as you begin to tell a legend that starts with the sound of your own voice."

Andrew smiled as Lily began to tell her story.

* * *

The small child walked her first steps today, she was very proud of her efforts, and her mother found it to be a cause of great celebration. It was not so much that she had walked, but that she had survived to walk. The sea is often a violent reminder to her family what could have been lost only month's before when the under tow could have destroyed it all.

She was still interested in what lie beyond the water's edge even after she had nearly drowned with less than two years under her belt. She would go to her grandfather everyday to learn about the sea, about his adventures in China or Alaska. It did not matter to the small child, she was happiest when she would be able to see the places, perhaps not with her own eyes, but rather, as seen through the eyes of her aged grandfather.

He always said that the water was like God whispering to His angels that the Earth craved their wisdom, that humanity was lost and drifting. Her grandfather would take her in his arms and hold her tightly, his gray beard brushing softly against her face, his wise old eyes filled with experience, yet one could always see that a child dwelled within them. "God is the captain of my ship," he would say. "He is the navigator of my soul, and His words are the commands from my Lord and Master."

The little girl would listen attentively to her grandfather. Although, her mother did not understand the imagery, and the stories, the child always did. Everyday, through the years, she would walk along the shoreline and talk to her Captain. "My friend," she would say. "I have longed to tell You how much You mean to me, how much I have to thank You for. I am Your servant, but I know that You created me to be more than just obedient. You created me to share a gift with the world, a gift of love that emanates my being and my heart. I love You, my Father, my Friend and my God."

As she grew, God became her navigator, and He became her example of love, happiness, and joy. She never went anywhere without Him, for He was the Father she never really had, He was the love that bridged the gap when her beloved teacher and grandfather went to sea that final day. He was the reminder of the steady beating of her heart, and as the water washed against her feet each day when she visited the seaside, she knew that she would never forget the lessons she learned from an old man who had, indeed, taught her well.

* * *

"That child was you, wasn't it?" Andrew asked as she stopped speaking. "That was a beautiful story."

Lily smiled and nodded. "You can learn more from a person's story than you probably could learn from watching a movie, or seeing an interview on television. A story is not just something that is played out, it has meaning and love, and when a storyteller crosses your path, you will find that their words can be more than just words."

Andrew smiled and nodded as Lily got up off the sand and started to walk slowly away. After a few seconds, she turned back towards him, but instead of leaving him alone, she got down on her knees in front of him once again and dug in the sand until she found a seashell. "Andrew, if you can find a story to tell about this shell, the next person you meet may find more wisdom in you than you may see in yourself."

She handed him the shell and once she got back up off the ground, she dusted herself off and walked away, all the while, smiling.

Andrew watched her, his eyes still following her movements until someone bumped up against him and broke his concentration. He turned his head to see that a boy had not really been watching where he was going.

Now, he stood some two feet from where Andrew was sitting on the sand, but when the angel glanced up, his green eyes widened as he beheld the boy. He couldn't have been much older than twelve, but instead of excusing himself, the boy sat down on the shoreline next to him.

"Hi," he eventually spoke, his voice cracking, and Andrew could tell that the boy's voice had started to change, and knew that he must have reached an incredibly awkward age.

"Hello," Andrew said.

"That lady you were talking to, she's really weird," the boy said.

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked.

"She's a psycho, every day she finds some poor sucker on the beach and tells him the same story, about God and all that other junk," the boy said.

"Why do you call it junk?"

The boy shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "It just is."

"Have you ever thought about the stories she tells?" Andrew asked.

"She talks about a dead grandfather, but she's lucky she had one, my parents are both dead," the boy said as he turned around and pointed to the school bus that was parked in the parking lot. Paying closer attention, Andrew read the side panel of the bus and he nodded. It was no wonder the boy was sad, he was an orphan, and was probably angry about the loss he has already endured in his young life.

Remembering what Lily had said, Andrew put his arm around the boy's shoulder and spoke, his voice soft. "Have you ever heard of God's Country?" He asked.

The boy shook his head.

"Well, in God's country there is no pain, and no sadness, there is only love, and that is where your parents are, in the arms of our God."

"How do you know?"

"Do you know what 'faith' is?" Andrew asked gently.

The boy shook his head. "Tell me."

Andrew smiled gently at the boy. "Faith is believing that when you get out of bed in the morning that the floor will be below your feet. Faith is taking a tube and squeezing it onto a toothbrush and knowing that toothpaste will come out and not mustard."

The boy cringed when he heard this analogy, but the angel knew that he was interested, because his eyes were filled with curiosity. "Faith is hearing music without having to turn on the radio. It is so many things; things that Lily's grandfather taught her before he died, and that with each person who really listens to her story without judging another will go home and be thankful for what one has, and blessed that one shared that part of him or herself with them."

"But, I don't have anything," the boy objected.

"You have a memory of what you have heard. It may not be as much as what another has, but you are the one who can choose to pass on those words that you have heard. Lily said that a storyteller takes words and gives them emotion and meaning. So, take her words and find what the emotion as well as the meaning in them mean for you. It won't be the same as what it means for someone else, but that's what makes you special in the eyes of your Creator. Just as no seashell is exactly the same, no creation is either, you are special in your own way, and God does know you." He rested the shell in the boy's hand.

The boy nodded, but he looked at Andrew somewhat skeptically. "You're as weird as she is, did you know that?"

"Maybe, but the question is, are you?" Andrew smiled at him. "Sometimes, you will meet a person, and sometimes you will meet an angel."

"Whatever you say," the boy smiled weakly, but he stuffed the shell into his pocket and skipped off.

In the distance, Andrew could see that the boy had removed the shell from his pocket and was showing it to the other children. The angel nodded and smiled as his mind began to drift, there's a lot one can learn on a day off, he thought to himself as he laid down on the sand and watched as the sun set beyond the sea.

The End.


End file.
